


Fatal Attraction

by writeratheart007301



Series: Blue and Green and Everything in Between [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “You didn’t get your wounds treated, did you?”“I’m not the one who got stabbed.”
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: Blue and Green and Everything in Between [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856581
Comments: 11
Kudos: 239





	1. Cloak and Dagger

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set at a time way before the first Avengers film, probably a few months/a year into Natasha's defection to S.H.I.E.L.D.

#### The Widow

Natasha’s legs were aching from squatting behind the tiny ledge, but she maintained her posture, her gun already out and ready in her hand.

She was just about to get out of her cover spot when the shrill sound of distortion in her earpiece made her cringe and stop.

“Romanoff, don’t move in just yet!”

Natasha recognised the voice of the blue-eyed agent, but she was surprised to hear it.

_What the hell is Hill doing here?_

“Agent Hill,” Natasha purred, her voice low and hushed, to not give away her position, “How nice of you to join the fun.”

Her eyes were fixed on her target, barely 20 yards away, in the middle of the room. Natasha kept staring at it as she whispered into the earpiece once again, “Now, would you mind explaining why I shouldn’t go ahead and extract the data, when the computers are literally in front of me?”

Natasha heard the characteristic rustle of the fabric of the tac suit, and she knew Hill was running. She could also hear the slight panting and stomping, and she knew Hill was running up the stairs. Probably to get to the server room. Where Natasha currently was.

“They know we’re here,” Hill huffed, her words jerky as she raced across the steps, “They’ll soon find out that you’ve made it to the servers. You’ll need someone to keep a look-out while you transfer the files.”

Natasha audibly scoffed, “I can watch my back just fine, Hill.”

“ _Wait till I get there,_ Agent,” Hill outright growled, “That’s an _order._ ”

Natasha gnashed her teeth at the command as she turned off her earpiece. She didn’t really want to rebel, but she also knew that time was of the essence. And she would need every bit of it, to break past the several layers of security she knew the computers would inevitably have.

_So sorry, Hill, but I can’t wait for you to come._

Natasha smiled at the inadvertent sex pun, before standing up from her crouched position.

She jogged out of her hiding spot, her gun trained in front of her as she scanned the multiple doors that the room had for any immediate incoming threats. She reached the workstation in a few steps and gave the office one last sweep of her eyes before setting the gun beside the keyboard.

Natasha inserted the flash drive into the CPU, her fingers briefly flying over the keys, and the machine immediately started humming as she tried to override the encryption. But the computer didn’t respond the way she wanted it to, and Natasha let out a rather amused sigh.

_Looks like your web is a little too intricate._

It hardly mattered, though. Because she was the Black Widow. And webs were her speciality.

* * *

Natasha was impressed with her own speed as she watched the file transfer window reach 100%.

But she barely had time to retrieve the flash drive – let alone gloat – before she heard the unmistakable sound of a semi-automatic being cocked.

Natasha snagged her own gun off the table as she ducked, and she suddenly found herself being tackled away from the workstation, just when the shower of bullets commenced.

She rolled along with the body shielding her, and their tangled knot of limbs managed to land right behind a rather large server tower, momentarily hidden from the gunfire.

Natasha quickly extracted herself out of the mess, her back pressed against the cabinet as she checked the clip of her gun. Her head was turned towards the deafening bangs as the shots kept going, the bullets ricocheting noisily as they hit the equipment in the room.

Natasha bent down and peeked beyond the rack, her eyes searching for the shooter as she trained her gun in front of her. She found him almost instantly and fired a single shot, getting him right in the centre of his head.

Natasha paused for a few seconds, her finger still on the trigger as she waited for more assailants to storm in. But the room stayed quiet, and Natasha finally stood up and turned around to look at the person that had just saved her.

The figure was still on the floor, the body turned away, and Natasha’s gaze fell on the slender back that she was staring at. She saw the familiar wisps of brown hair, the usually taut bun now slightly loose and dishevelled, and she knew who it was.

_Hill._

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Natasha exhaled, her breath coming out in puffs as she steadied her pulse.

But the woman didn’t respond and only got up on her knees, still not facing Natasha, her hand wrapped around her midsection. And Natasha felt a block of ice-cold dread settle in the pit of her stomach when she saw that Hill wasn’t wearing a bullet-proof suit.

“Are you hit?” Natasha croaked, and she was taken aback by how strangled her voice sounded.

But Hill only lowered her head a little, and Natasha found herself rooted to her spot, the sheer terror making her legs feel like lead. She breathed deeply in a desperate attempt to calm herself, her gaze drilling into the woman’s back.

_Dammit, Hill. Stand up, please. I can’t have your blood on my hands._

Almost as if the brunette had heard that, Hill raised her head and planted one foot in front of her. She stood up straight within the next second, her hand falling beside her as she whirled around to face Natasha.

Clear, electric eyes locked with hers, and Natasha’s body almost sagged with relief when she didn’t find any trace of pain in Hill’s blue orbs.

Natasha’s gaze scanned the taller woman’s face, stopping on the horizontal gash along her cheek bone, and her hand itched to reach out and soothe the wound. She trampled the urge, dropping her eyes lower, and saw the tear in Hill’s tac suit, right along her waist.

The torn edge was singed, and Natasha guessed that the bullet must have grazed her. _Should still hurt like a bitch,_ Natasha thought to herself _._ She looked back up at Hill and found that the brunette’s jaw was clenched tightly, but her eyebrow was still arched up.

“Would’ve been terribly clichéd if I was,” Hill answered rather casually, “The whole taking-a-bullet-for-you bit is way too overrated, don’t you think?”

The brunette was outright smirking by now, the cut beneath her eye rippling with amusement. But Natasha’s heart was beating too fast to take the banter forward.

“Why aren’t you in your Kevlar?” she all but growled.

The cocky grin died on the Hill’s lips, “I could ask _you_ the same question.”

The staring match lasted all but 3 seconds. It was a stalemate and Natasha knew it.

Climbing up two dozen flights of stairs was already tiring – even with her level of fitness – and the bullet-proof vest would have made it all the more exhausting. Natasha’s suit was carelessly strewn somewhere between the 14th and 15th storey, where she’d given up trying to trudge the steps in that uncomfortable-as-fuck apparel.

Choosing to not escalate the argument, Natasha simply huffed, “What are you doing here? Didn’t your part end when you handed us the mission blueprints?”

Hill’s lips twitched with annoyance, “Barton contacted us,” she replied, “After you abandoned him.”

“He was injured!” Natasha said almost instantly, “I couldn’t let him tag along. He’d only get us both killed.”

Natasha hoped her voice was concealing the concern she felt for the archer. Much to her own horror, she’d actually started caring – _worrying –_ about Barton, especially since he’d become her partner on missions. But Hill was glaring at her, the disappointment clear on her face.

“So, you nearly knocked him unconscious, gagged him – _left him at a subway station_ – and decided to go ahead with the op solo?” Hill said, her voice clipped, exasperation rolling off her in waves.

Natasha gave her a nonchalant shrug, “Is he…”

“He’s being taken care of by the med-staff,” Hill cut her off, “Now, let’s get out of here.”

The reminder made Natasha realise that the flash drive wasn’t with her. Her head whipped towards the workstation, scanning the floor around it, and she found the device there, broken into two pieces.

Natasha realised it must have gotten destroyed in the chaos, when they’d made that rolling escape. Not just that, the computer itself had gotten completely wrecked during the gunfire. Hill’s gaze followed Natasha’s and she saw the fragments of the drive and the ruins of all the machinery.

“ _Fuck,_ ” the brunette growled, “I’m sorry, Romanoff.”

But Natasha flashed her a smug smile, “It’s fine,” she said, her voice cool, “I had added another route to the data extraction path. To my own, personal cloud,” she explained, “The files must have gotten uploaded there at the same time as they got transferred onto the flash drive.”

Hill’s expression was a mix of impressed and incredulous, “This cloud of yours,” she began, “Is not linked to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database?”

“Of course, not,” Natasha replied instantly, “It’s a custom developed software, and I’m the only one who can access it. And – needless to say – it’s hack-proof.”

A bone twitched in Hill’s jaw, a strange kind of fire burning bright in her eyes. And Natasha realised the message she had indirectly given out: _even after everything, I still don’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t trust you._

And it was true; she was trained to trust no one except for herself. And she’d never had the need to explain herself for it, but right now, Natasha somehow felt the urge to diffuse the tension. She willed her features to soften a bit, carefully eyeing the taller woman’s face.

“I have to protect what’s mine, Hill,” Natasha said, the words solemn, but an impish grin on her lips, “I can’t have S.H.I.E.L.D. snooping around my collection of neo-noir films,” she said, smirking for effect, “That kind of trust has to be earned.”

Hill gave her a small smile, accepting the deflection, “Any of those movies legally acquired?”

Natasha wiggled her eyebrows devilishly, “I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. granted me immunity.”

The brunette shook her head, “I knew we should have discussed the terms of your defection in more detail.”

Natasha smothered the bubble of laughter, “You can whine about that later,” she said, “Let’s get back to the HQ. They’re going to know which files are missing, and we’re going to need a lot of time to decipher the data.”

This time, Hill smirked at her, “We have more time than you think,” she said, “I had installed a timestamp scrambler in that flash drive. It suspends the clock of the computer it gets injected into,” she explained, “So, at their end, they’ll only notice a breach in their network that lasted a few milliseconds.”

_Which they’ll probably treat as a glitch. Damn, that is gold._

It was Natasha’s turn to be pleased.

She didn’t even try to fight the grin that broke out on her face, and her heart skipped a beat when the brunette returned it. Hill grabbed her gun that was on the floor, checking its safety as she nodded towards the exit, motioning for them to make a move.

Natasha promptly turned on her heel and led the way, her mind still processing everything that had just happened. Hill was great at foreseeing such weak links in mission plans, and her backend support, while mostly unsung, was always valuable. And it usually made Natasha’s work a hundred times easier.

The taller woman soon caught up with her, slowing her pace to match Natasha’s shorter strides. And Natasha wondered if that was a deliberate decision on Hill’s part. To walk _right alongside_ her. Not behind, like she wanted to keep an eye on her. Neither ahead, to assert dominance.

And it probably wasn’t, because Natasha noticed the brunette’s gaze focused ahead, on the _mission,_ her jaw squared in that determined way. And she realised that Hill subconsciously considered her to be an equal.

_Equal._

The thought was almost _touching,_ and Natasha felt a weird calm fill her. And she thought that maybe, _maybe,_ she’d be able get herself to trust the woman.

* * *

They’d hadn’t even made it to the door when a group of masked men charged in.

Natasha sighed as she took in the number, which was only increasing by the second, and quickly raised her gun, firing till she had bullets left in the clip. But she ran out of them soon and glanced towards Hill to see how she was doing.

The woman was already out of ammo and was using the gun as a blunt weapon, taking the men as they came at her. The assailants didn’t seem to have sidearms of their own – Natasha found that weird, but she had no time to analyse it – and she joined Hill as they promptly switched to hand-to-hand combat.

The attackers had their number to their advantage, but their skill was no match to Natasha’s. And even as she made her own moves, Natasha was able to catch glimpses of Hill from the corner of her eye.

The way the woman fought was… _efficient,_ for the lack of a better term. And Natasha had always been fascinated by it. Much like her words, Hill was wise with her moves as well, not wasting them on unnecessary and frantic attempts.

Natasha, on the other hand, fought viciously, using her fluid body to launch blow after blow on her attackers, overwhelming them with her sheer speed. But Hill took her time, her gaze keenly observing the assailants, learning their pattern. She waited till they made the lethal error before moving in.

And usually, just a few hits would suffice. Because despite her lithe figure, Hill’s blows _hurt._ Like the devil. Natasha had learnt it the hard way that the brunette was much stronger than she looked. And contrary to what she had expected, Natasha had come to realise that Hill’s calculating approach of combat actually made her a formidable opponent.

Natasha looked at the woman now, a tiny smile dancing on her lips as she saw Hill sidestep a punch and slam her fist into the man’s temple, knocking him out. And she shifted her focus back to her own fight.

* * *

Natasha was just done with her set of attackers, their incapacitated bodies scattered around her, when she a heard a pained grunt beside her, and her head immediately whipped towards the sound.

Hill was on her knees – that sight was starting to annoy Natasha for some reason – and her hand was once again clutching her side. Natasha guessed that one of the assailants – the only one who was still on his feet – must have landed a kick on the brunette’s wounded midsection.

She was just about to go and help the woman, when Hill suddenly swept her leg ahead in a half circle, tripping the man in front of her. The brunette barely waited for the body to fall to the floor before driving her elbow into his chest, the blow breaking the poor guy’s sternum with a sickening crunch.

The whole thing must have lasted hardly a second, but it distracted Natasha enough to not notice one of the men in front of _her_ stand up and pull a knife out of her suit’s holster.

Natasha turned her head just in time to see the flash of the blade before it was plunged into her.

#### The Soldier

Maria saw it all happen, but she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

She watched as the man drove the knife – Romanoff’s _own fucking knife –_ into Romanoff’s gut, the redhead’s body lurching backwards by the force. Maria saw the man yank the blade out, probably to stab Romanoff once more, and she was spurred into action.

But the redhead had it covered.

Romanoff grabbed the man’s wrist as he tried to pull it back and held it in a tight grip, her lips turned into a sneer despite the pain. She bent the guy’s hand violently, cracking his wrist as she reversed the direction of the knife, and thrust it into the man’s chest.

Romanoff twisted the dagger, which was still in the guy’s body, and gave him a final push, making him fall to the floor as he convulsed in agony. Her hand almost instantly flew to her side, grasping at the wound as she staggered away from the body.

And Maria was immediately by her side, catching her when she saw her legs about to give out. She held Romanoff upright, her hand covering the redhead’s as they tried to curb the blood loss. But Romanoff let out a groan and Maria realised that she wasn’t going to be able to stand.

She lowered the redhead to the ground as gently as she could, cradling the tiny body against her thigh. Maria’s hands were already flying to pull down the zipper of Romanoff’s tac suit, and she quickly lifted the shirt underneath to examine the wound.

Maria cursed under her breath at the sight of the gash. It was wide and deep, and the blood was gushing out of it profusely.

_Not good. Not fucking good._

Maria hoped to God that the knife must not have caused too much damage to Romanoff’s internal organs. The wound looked bad as it is, and she wondered just how much time she had to get the woman some medical help.

The redhead suddenly chuckled, and Maria’s gaze whipped towards her face, “The hell’s so funny, Romanoff?”

The woman smirked – she actually _smirked –_ before replying, “Not quite how I imagined you would be stripping me.”

Romanoff’s voice was way too strained and weak for Maria to find it even a little bit amusing. She quickly shrugged off the jacket of her own tac suit and pressed it against the redhead’s bleeding side, earning a hiss from the woman.

“Fucking hell, Romanoff,” Maria muttered, trying to ignore the ache in her own heart as she saw Romanoff’s brows knit together in pain, “How’d you let yourself get stabbed?”

“I…” the redhead mumbled, screwing her eyes shut, “I got distracted.”

Maria somehow felt the piercing guilt at that, but she didn’t have time to wallow in it. She resisted the urge to rub her knuckles against Romanoff’s cheek and gave her arm a light nudge instead, “We have to get out.”

The redhead opened her eyes, her green orbs tired and dim, and nodded slightly, “Do you have any ammo?”

Maria was almost confused at the question, and Romanoff sighed, “One of us needs to be armed if we want to make it out of here.”

Maria nodded numbly, dumbstruck by the redhead’s ceaseless courage, and reached into her pocket to produce a clip. Maria wished she’d gotten a chance to reach for it earlier, when they were fighting off those men. She might’ve been able to prevent this situation.

Maria gritted her teeth, biting down the remorse and stretched one hand to reach for Romanoff’s gun, which was lying a few feet away. She grabbed it and quickly inserted the clip into the Glock, checking the safety once she was done.

Romanoff took the gun from Maria’s hand, her breathing slow and ragged as she tried to push down the pain. And Maria could only stare in awe at the redhead, her heart bursting with pride for the fallen agent.

She gathered Romanoff’s body in her arms securely, lifting the woman as she stood up slowly. And the redhead’s free arm almost automatically curled around Maria’s neck, her hand fisting the collar of Maria’s undershirt.

And Maria wished these weren’t the circumstances that she had to carry the woman bridal style.

Maria could feel Romanoff’s blood seep in through her own shirt, despite the jacket still awkwardly wedged between them, and she looked down at the redhead in concern. She saw that Romanoff’s jaw was clenched resolutely, despite the pain etched across her features.

The redhead was losing blood at an alarming rate, and Maria was seriously worried if she’d be able to get her to safety in time.

But fuck, if she was going to give up without trying her goddamn best.

* * *

Maria had climbed up 4 storeys, Romanoff still in her arms, when her comms crackled to life.

“Hill!” the voice called out, “The roof is inaccessible. We think they’re guarding it from inside. It’s not going to be a suitable evac point for you.”

Maria growled in frustration, “Don’t tell me problems, Agent!” she snapped, “Give me a goddamn solution, because I can’t go back down. Romanoff is with me and she’s injured.”

Muffled sounds took over at the other end as the agents tried to formulate a new plan, and Maria took the time to catch her breath, her own body aching with exhaustion. The whole building had been locked down, their elevators disabled, and stairs were the only option left.

She eventually looked down at Romanoff and saw her lips pursed, tears ebbing in her eyes. The redhead’s body was trembling as she struggled to bear the pain, her normally vibrant eyes almost lifeless. And Maria wished there was some way to end her misery.

There was another garbled sound before the voice was back in her ears, “Okay, there’s a conference room on the 35th storey,” the agent said, “It has a window large enough for us to break and airlift you out. We’re already setting up the harnesses.”

_The 35 th storey. Another 6 flights of stairs. Still closer than the roof._

Maria barked out her approval and resumed the hike. She kept her strides as smooth as possible, but Romanoff still gasped with each step as her wound got jostled. And each soft cry sliced through Maria’s heart.

Just like she had been doing all this while, Maria kept up the regular murmurs of _we’re-almost-there_ and _stay-with-me_ into the redhead’s ear. And she knew it was more for her own sake than Romanoff’s.

But she still kept doing it, willing herself to believe the promises as she repeated them like chants.

* * *

Maria was panting heavily when she made it up till the 34th storey, her calves burning with fatigue, her body threatening to collapse as she bore Romanoff’s weight.

She found that the staircase ended there, for some reason, and she’d have to get to the other end of the room and use the exit there. Maria almost harrumphed at the fucking annoying interior design as she started walking towards the other set of stairs.

She looked down at Romanoff and noticed that the redhead was nearly unconscious, her eyes barely open, her breathing low and laborious. The woman’s armed hand was hanging limp, the gun just barely dangling in her grip.

But Maria saw could hear the droning of the chopper somewhere outside building, and she somehow stopped her hope from plummeting. Maria had crossed about half the room when she heard the shuffling of footsteps behind her.

She spun around, the action suddenly jolting the redhead alert, and they saw a small group of men, in those familiar black masks, storm in. But before Maria – or even the men – could do anything, Romanoff raised her arm, firing shots back-to-back even though her hand was shaking.

The redhead managed to get them all – thankfully, there weren’t any more coming in – but one of them still managed to throw a grenade in their direction. And this time, Maria didn’t waste a second before whirling around and pulling Romanoff closer into her chest, shielding her from the explosion she knew she couldn’t have outrun.

The grenade probably didn't make it too close to them, and Maria didn’t feel the blast of heat that she was expecting. But it must have hit some device rack nearby as it exploded, because the shrapnel instantly shot out her way.

Maria’s body jerked involuntarily as the fragments – of wood, glass, _metal_ – pierced her back. Her mouth flew open reflexively, but no sound came out of it. She blinked rapidly as the pain nearly blinded her, and she found her legs buckling before she could help it.

“ _Dammit,_ ” Maria muttered, dropping her head frustratedly as her knees hit the floor.

She kept clenching and unclenching her jaw, willing for the stinging to stop. But even the simple move was causing stabs of pain to radiate from the countless points where the shards were embedded in her skin.

Maria’s body was unresponsive as she tried to get herself to stand up, and she shut her eyes at her helplessness. And then suddenly, she felt a hand on her face, the knuckles tracing the gash on her cheek ever so softly. Maria opened her eyes to see Romanoff staring at her, her eyes still pale but clear.

“Hey,” the redhead whispered, “It’s okay.”

Romanoff shifted Maria’s sweat-damp bangs away, the redhead’s blood smearing across Maria’s forehead as her fingers moved. And Maria felt her breath catch in her throat.

Ever since Romanoff had come to S.H.I.E.L.D., the Russian had managed to evoke many different feelings in Maria. Curiosity. Empathy. Respect, eventually. Lust, inevitably _._ But, for the first time, Maria felt _protective_ of the redhead. So insanely protective, it almost made her heart stop.

“You have amazing eyes, Hill,” Romanoff mumbled deliriously, “I didn’t know such blues even existed.”

Maria tried to speak, but she could hardly form a coherent reply to that. The redhead’s hand slid down to rest on Maria’s jaw, her fingers trembling as she rubbed her thumb in a circle on Maria’s skin.

“The data… my cloud…” Romanoff murmured, pain evident on her face, “The password –”

“ _No.”_

Maria had to cut her off. She suddenly couldn’t bear the way the redhead was looking at her. Like she was seeing her for the last time. Like she’d made peace with the fact that she was going to d–

“You’re the one who got the data, Romanoff,” Maria growled, willing her voice to stay stable, “ _You_ will be the one to deliver it back at the HQ.”

“You’re _not_ allowed to die,” Maria choked out, “And that’s an order, Agent _._ ”

The Russian gawked at her for a few seconds before letting out a rickety cough. And Maria’s dread multiplied when she saw the red splatter on her own arm, the one cradling the woman’s head. Blood trickled out of Romanoff’s lips, and Maria instantly reached out with her other hand to wipe it.

The redhead’s body continued to jerk and writhe in Maria’s arms, but Maria gathered her and stood up, ignoring how – or _why –_ her own heart was bleeding at the smaller woman’s agony. She promptly began walking ahead, her eyes focused on the staircase at the end of the room.

“Keep looking at me, Romanoff,” Maria commanded, glancing down to make sure the Russian was still conscious.

Unlike before, her strides were long and hurried as she rushed through that last flight of steps, more determined than ever to get the redhead to that chopper; to safety.

Maria kept telling herself that she would be this concerned for all of her agents. But deep down, she knew that it was because she couldn’t lose Romanoff.

She couldn’t lose _Natasha._

* * *

Maria stared listlessly at the glossy floor of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s infirmary.

The medic was plucking out the shards from her back, but she could hardly feel anything. They had taken Romanoff into surgery the moment they’d gotten back to the Helicarrier. And Maria had heard the doctors yell words like “flatlining” and “crash-cart” and she’d gone numb ever since.

The medic pulled out a fragment that was embedded particularly deeply, and Maria flinched inadvertently. The movement made her eyes fall on her hands, stained with the Russian’s blood up till her elbows. And Maria all but jumped off the bed, suddenly unable to take it anymore.

“Agent Hill, wait,” the medic called out after her, “I still need to clean the blood.”

The words rang ominously in Maria’s mind. She kept staring at her hands, the sight of the haunting crimson burning her retina.

_I need to clean the blood._

Maria didn’t even reply to the medic as she snagged her shirt – trying to ignore how even that was soaked in blood – and pulled it over her head haphazardly while staggering out of the room. She made a point to not glance towards the operation theatre, where the doctors were still working on Romanoff, and dashed towards her office.

Slamming the door of the en-suite washroom shut, Maria ripped off her clothes before stepping into the shower, the ice-cold pellets of water hitting her body like bullets. But she hardly registered the pain as she scrubbed at her skin furiously. She needed to clean the blood.

Natasha’s blood.


	2. Maze of Feelings

#### The Widow

Natasha’s eyes zeroed in on her target the moment she reached her destination.

She spotted Hill at the far end of the gym, sparring with Agent Hopkins – the guy seemed to have some kind of a grudge against Hill, but the brunette was somehow oblivious of it – and she took the moment to catch her breath. And stare at Hill.

Natasha had finally been discharged from the med-bay, a full week since the op, and she’d been wanting to see Hill ever since. She didn’t know _why_ she wanted to see the brunette. She just… _had_ to.

Maybe it was to apologise for the shit they – _Hill –_ had to go through because Natasha had dropped her guard. Or maybe it was to thank her, for saving Natasha.

Natasha was surprised at the fact that she was actually _considering_ apologising and thanking someone. She wasn’t sure if she was even physically capable of doing it.

_Hill has always been special, though…_

The brunette’s gaze suddenly fell on Natasha, and Natasha saw Hill’s stance falter, giving Hopkins the very opening he’d probably been waiting for.

Natasha watched as the agent launched a quick combination of kicks and punches at Hill, making the woman double over. But Hill quickly straightened up to block the incoming right hook from Hopkins, and then took that same arm to judo flip him.

It was a rather splendid display of strength by the lean woman, and Natasha couldn’t help but be impressed. Then again, Natasha knew just how powerful Hill’s arms were, from the way she had held her, back during the extraction. Securely. _Protectively._

Natasha saw Hopkins wheeze on the mat as Hill said something to him, her eyes fixed on Natasha all the while. The taller woman then started walking – _stalking –_ towards Natasha, her features calm, but the intensity of her gaze burning Natasha even from the distance.

Behind Hill, Hopkins scrambled to his feet, and she noticed him sneer haughtily at the brunette. _He is so going to get beat up by me someday,_ Natasha sighed to herself, _and it’s going to be so much fun._

And she realised she was smiling only when Hill was about seven steps away from her. Natasha quickly morphed it into a cocky smirk, “Hey there, hot stuff.”

A scowl briefly took over Hill’s features, but she kept walking. Natasha felt like prey as the taller woman approached her, her gait purposeful and menacing. But the wave of fear passed almost instantly, and Natasha levelled a smug grin at the brunette.

“So, _you_ get distracted, too, Agent Hill?” she said, her brows raised in mock-condescension.

The jab was entirely unnecessary, but Natasha hadn’t been able to help it. Pushing Hill’s – _Hardass Hill’s –_ buttons seemed to be her absolute favourite pastime. Right now, however, Natasha half expected the woman to just yell at her for her insolence.

But Hill’s stride didn’t break even then, and she came up to Natasha, taking her by her arm and gently tugging her towards the nearest bench. The brunette maintained an impassive expression as she made Natasha sit down, but her eyes flashed brighter for just a second.

“Debrief will take place in the _conference room_ , Romanoff,” Hill said rather customarily, “And it isn’t until later in the afternoon. What spurred you to suddenly be _this_ early?”

Hill stepped back once Natasha was comfortable, standing casually in front her, appearing supremely bored of the antics. And nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for the fact that Hill’s arms _weren’t_ crossed against her torso, the way they usually were when she stared down at Natasha, when Natasha was being… well, _Natasha_.

“There were some discussions that had to happen before the official meeting,” Natasha answered, her voice lined with mock seriousness, “ _Privately._ ”

Hill sighed heavily, like she was done with the conversation before it even began. And Natasha had to smother her smile as the familiar, ador– no, _just_ familiar – look of exasperation took over the brunette’s face.

_Dammit, why do I even want to smile? Why does Hill look so –_

“I wanted to tell you,” Natasha began, before her thoughts could run rampant.

She discreetly cleared her throat – and her mind – but she found herself falling quiet, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Hill raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for her to continue, and Natasha squared her shoulders.

“I wanted to tell you,” she started once again, more confidently, this time, “That you have strong biceps,” Natasha said, her voice clear, “And I don’t take back anything I said during the exfiltration.”

 _She really does have amazing eyes,_ Natasha mused, gazing into the very same orbs. She wondered if the taller woman would somehow be able to winnow her way through the words and read Natasha’s rather twisted _thank-you._

“Is that so, Romanoff?” Hill replied, her eyes suddenly soft.

And Natasha knew she had read it.

“Because I sincerely hope that I don’t ever have to carry your ass again,” Hill added, a ghost of a smirk on her lips, “Especially not _bridal style._ ”

 _Oh, you so wish you didn’t want to,_ Natasha wanted to quip.

She pouted innocently instead, “Is that an order, Agent?”

The brunette’s features instantly hardened, and Natasha froze at her spot. But a blink, a clench of her jaw, and the mask of indifference was back on Hill’s face.

“I’d like to go now, if you’re done,” Hill said, her voice steely, “I’ll see you later at the debriefing,” she added, giving Natasha a once-over, “Get some rest, Romanoff.”

With that, that brunette turned to leave, and Natasha audibly gnashed her teeth.

“Wait,” she called out after the taller woman.

Hill whirled back around, and instantly reached forward to grab Natasha when she tried to get off the bench on her own. Natasha would have broken any hand that so much as _attempted_ to help her, but she knew that the brunette was determined enough to do it anyway.

Hill let her go once she was satisfied that Natasha was stable on her feet, her expression a poker face once again. And despite the woman’s stoicism, Natasha could read the worry. In the way Hill’s whole posture was tightly strung. In the way her jaw was squared. In the way her eyes were drilling into Natasha.

_Damn, those eyes._

Natasha took the brunette’s hand and tugged her with her as she started walking towards the exit of the gym. Her gait was slow and not nearly as elegant as she usually kept it, given the dull pain in her abdomen, the stiches getting pulled with each step.

But that was the last thing Natasha’s mind registered. The feel of Hill’s hand in hers – her fingers calloused from years of training, but her grip still firm and warm – overruled every other sensation, and Natasha was surprised that the woman was letting herself get pulled.

But right then, Hill came forward and started walking beside her, making them look like a couple, with their hands entwined. And Natasha couldn’t help but smirk at the move. _Touché, Hill._ She was forced to let go of the brunette’s hand, considering that they were already getting weird looks as they made their way across the Helicarrier.

Natasha thought Hill would simply go off her own way, but the brunette disproved her guess – for the nth time, by now – and kept walking beside her. And if she was surprised when Natasha led them to her own office, she didn’t show it.

Natasha waited for Hill to shut the door before speaking, “Take your shirt off.”

Hill’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and then she smirked, “You trying to get back at me for stripping you?”

The brunette was obviously waiting for a retort, but Natasha simply walked towards her slowly, allowing her to back away, if she wanted to. But Hill stayed where she was, and Natasha reached for her shoulder, nudging it, prompting the woman to turn around.

“Take your shirt off,” Natasha repeated, softly this time, her eyes fixed on the many, _many_ patches of blood on Hill’s shirt.

They were small and nearly camouflaged against the dark material, but they covered almost the entire expanse of the woman’s back and neck. Natasha’s hand involuntarily reached out to touch one of them, and Hill immediately spun around. The brunette took a large, deliberate step back, her face turned away from Natasha’s.

“You didn’t get your wounds treated, did you?” Natasha said, surprised at both, the question and how thin her voice sounded.

Hill scoffed audibly, “I’m not the one who got stabbed, Romanoff.”

“Hill…” Natasha trailed off, taken aback by the penitence in the brunette’s tone.

Hill finally met Natasha’s gaze, “I didn’t want to go the med-bay, not when –” she stopped herself, her shoulders sagging, “And I, uh, I couldn’t reach the spots on my own.”

Natasha didn’t know why that sent a twinge through her heart. But it did, and her hand was itching to reach out and rub her knuckles over Hill’s tightly clenched jaw. Everything about her body’s reaction towards the woman was confusing Natasha, but her concern won over the frustration.

“I’ll do it,” she said, wishing it didn’t sound so much like a desperate plea.

“You don’t have to,” Hill replied almost automatically.

Natasha glared back at her. _You also didn’t_ have _to save me back there. And yet, here we are._

Not that she’d ever say that out loud.

“Maybe I just want to see your abs,” Natasha quipped, the sly smile on her lips all but a reflex.

Hill chuckled instantly, and just like that, the tension was gone. But Natasha only allowed herself a small grin, holding the brunette’s gaze firmly.

“Come on, Hill,” she coaxed, “Let me do it.”

The brunette scanned Natasha’s eyes for a while before walking over to the cabinet near her desk. She came back with a first aid box in her hands, standing a few paces away from Natasha.

Natasha quirked up an eyebrow when Hill didn’t pass her the box: _what are you waiting for?_

Hill’s gaze flickered between Natasha and the couch beside her: _for you to sit down._

They stared at each other for a long time, and while Natasha was growing increasingly impatient, Hill simply stood with a rather uninterested look on her face.

The ache in Natasha’s body eventually took over, and she let out an exasperated sigh before lowering herself onto the seat. But Hill spared her the embarrassment and didn’t smirk back. She waited till Natasha was settled, and then handed her the box.

Hill didn’t exactly hover; she just stood near her and observed her, like she was checking if Natasha was really fine. And only once she was fully convinced did the brunette finally sit down near Natasha, turning away so that her back was facing Natasha.

And Natasha could hardly decipher Hill’s demeanour. Her words and expressions were dry and aloof, but her actions were… _gentle._ And Natasha was _so_ not used to it. She wondered if Hill knew just how obvious her concern was. She wondered if the brunette _cared_ that Natasha could see it so clearly.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Hill pulled her shirt over her head, and the several cuts on her back were finally visible to Natasha. Some of them were halfway healed, but there were far too many deep ones still gaping open.

Hill stayed perfectly still as Natasha went about cleaning the wounds and patching them up. And Natasha’s mind suddenly drifted back to memory of their escape. She remembered Hill’s utter despondence as that grenade had gone off.

The lieutenant had looked so helpless and defeated as she’d fallen to the ground, it had been agonising to watch. Almost just as much as the pain in her gut, where the knife had stabbed her. And Natasha had instinctively known that Hill would eternally blame herself if she didn’t get them out of there.

But even at the brink of death, Natasha had been strangely calm. Like somehow, it was okay to die in Hill’s arms. Like maybe, her redemption lied in the fact that someone as noble as Hill was trying so desperately to save her.

Or like a part of her – a part that hadn’t come alive until then – had just _blindly_ trusted Hill. Trusted Hill to save her. The feeling was new and all kinds of perplexing. And even _nice,_ if Natasha would ever let herself admit it.

Natasha tapped Hill’s shoulder twice once she’d finished, and Hill promptly snagged her shirt and wore it. And Natasha was almost sad that she actually didn’t get to see Hill’s abs. The brunette stood up and turned around to face Natasha.

“So, uh… you can stay, if you want to,” Hill said, sliding her hands into the pockets of her pants, “But I have some work to do right now.”

It was cute, really, how a sentence that simple made the lieutenant get so flustered, when she dealt with death threats and bureaucratic negotiations on a regular basis. But Natasha was suddenly alarmed by how _comfortable_ she’d gotten in Hill’s presence.

“No, it’s fine,” she replied, “I’ll go find someone else to pester.”

The brunette gave her a nod and held out her hand. Natasha eyed it for a while, unsure what to make of the unexpected chivalry.

_Then again, she’s carried me up more than half a building._

But Hill seemed to realise her folly and immediately started to withdraw her hand, and Natasha was reaching out to grab it before she even knew it.

She let herself be hauled up – ever so delicately, she noticed – and watched Hill’s brows knit together slightly, her gaze darting towards Natasha’s midsection. Like she could see the wound right through the shirt and the thick pad of bandages taped over it.

But Hill schooled her features soon enough and stepped away, “Make sure you’re on time for the debriefing, Romanoff.”

Natasha grinned back devilishly, giving the brunette a mock-salute, and started walking towards the door. She stopped just a few paces away and turned around, and Hill – _Maria –_ was standing in the same spot as before, her eyes fixed on Natasha, watching her. Watching _over_ her. 

“ _You_ need to get some rest, Hill,” Natasha said, smirking to cover up the softness that had slipped into her voice, “And that’s an order.”

With that, Natasha wheeled around as cockily as she could, and proceeded to walk out of the office, hoping that her steps had at least an ounce of their usual swagger.

And even though she hadn’t stopped to catch the brunette’s reaction, she was sure she saw a shy smile tugging on Hill’s lips.

A smile that melted the heart of _the_ Black Widow.

#### The Soldier

Maria took a break from the email she was checking to glance towards the Director.

Fury was sitting at the head of the table, engrossed in his own tablet, his posture relaxed. But Maria knew he was waiting for the agents to turn up for the meeting. Maria shook her head as she looked at the clock. It was 4 minutes past the scheduled time for the debriefing.

Which meant that Romanoff would turn up in about another minute.

The Russian could always guess just the right window of time that she was allowed to be late by, before Maria completely lost her patience. Maria had a feeling that Romanoff particularly liked to keep her dangling like that. On the precipice of pissed off and hopelessly charmed.

Take the encounter just a few hours ago as an example.

The redhead had ticked Maria off simply by _appearing_ at the gym.

She was recovering from a surgery after a goddamn _stab wound_ , and yet, she’d been prancing around the Helicarrier, being her impudent self. And as much as Maria enjoyed bickering with the woman, she’d barely been able to conceal her worry as Romanoff had gone about with her usual Romanoff-ness.

Sometimes Maria thought that the redhead had a rather messed up sense of self-preservation. And it made her want to look out for Romanoff even more. And that irrational, protective instinct for the Russian only made Maria angry.

And yet, Maria had been so _taken_ by the way Romanoff had helped her with her wounds. For all her jagged edges, physical and metaphorical, the Russian had been so genuinely soft, Maria had almost been left reeling.

_The woman will forever remain a mystery to me._

The sigh hadn’t even fully escaped Maria’s lips when the door was opened and Romanoff hobbled in, a limping Barton tagging behind her. _Speak of the devil,_ Maria mused as she saw the wicked grin plastered on the Russian’s face.

Maria waited for the agents to take their seats before nodding towards Fury. She stood in her place, her arms crossed over her chest, and watched as Barton and Romanoff filled the Director in on the op.

The redhead didn’t seem even a little apologetic as she described the _several_ questionable means she’d employed throughout the mission – during and before the data extraction – and Maria couldn’t help her rather proud smile.

Romanoff found a way, no matter what. And when there wasn’t one, she’d create it. But she always, _always,_ got the job done. It was a trait that managed to enrage and impress Maria. This time, apparently, it was just the latter.

“So,” Fury cleared his throat, glaring at Maria, and she realised she hadn’t been concentrating. She gave the Director a sheepish nod, and he continued, “Are we able to access this data that you so painstakingly stole? Because, I believe, we didn’t manage to retrieve any hardware…”

The question was vaguely accusatory – a classic exhibit of Fury’s twisted wordplay – and it seemed to throw the redhead off her game.

Romanoff’s gaze darted towards Maria, her eyes flickering with a strange kind of hesitation. Maria raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, asking the redhead for her permission to take over, and Romanoff promptly blinked in response.

“The flash drive got destroyed during the ambush,” Maria said, making the Director turn to face her, “But Romanoff managed to get a backup of the files on a private cloud.”

Fury squared his jaw, making it clear that he’d understood exactly what Maria meant by “private,” and Maria waited for his reaction.

“And you’re aware of all the details about this cloud?” Fury asked after a bit.

He was looking at Maria rather smugly. Like he wanted to see if she could finagle her way out of this.

But Maria formed a reply within 2 seconds flat, “I know all that needs to be known,” she replied smoothly, “You’ll be able to have the data the second you ask for it.”

The Director shook his head, a nearly imperceptible grin on his lips, “Well, then, get started with decoding the files,” he said, “I want a report on the intel as soon as possible.”

Maria felt herself smile when she saw Romanoff discreetly sigh, and she shifted her focus back to the meeting as they ran through the other superficial details.

* * *

Maria stayed back in the conference room, gathering her files and gadgets while the rest of the agents began leaving.

She looked up soon enough and saw Romanoff lurking near the door, her back towards Maria. Barton’s head was poking in through the gap, and he was making weird faces at the redhead, and Maria had to roll her eyes. Romanoff must have responded to him in some way, because Barton’s features suddenly paled and he all but fled from there, his limp notwithstanding.

And then, it was just the two of them.

Romanoff turned around hastily, and then winced as the movement must have pulled at her stiches. Maria squashed the urge to rush towards her, balling her fist against her thigh as she waited for the redhead to say whatever was on her mind.

“Why’d you bail me out?” Romanoff spoke eventually, her expression blank, but her voice lined with genuine disbelief.

“You didn’t do anything wrong for me to bail you out, Romanoff,” Maria said, “You did what you had to do. Fury understands that.”

“But –”

“And if I had any doubts regarding your loyalty,” Maria cut her off, her tone strict and clipped, “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

It was meant to be a subtle warning, but Romanoff’s posture only relaxed, a strange grin breaking out on her face. Like she couldn’t take Maria seriously. It was outright insulting, and Maria was going to give the redhead a piece of her mind, when Romanoff’s gaze suddenly locked with hers.

“Lieutenant Hill,” the Russian began, “You and I both know that you would _never_ leave a fellow agent to die, no matter how much they piss you off.”

“At worst, you’d assign them a shitload of paperwork,” Romanoff smirked, “Or take away their access to the gym. Or give them a black eye in the sparring ring.”

Maria stifled her own smile as the redhead listed the very things she’d done to _her,_ as payback for some of the stunts she’d pulled.

Romanoff’s grin turned mellow as she continued, “But you would _always_ come through for your team.”

Maria clenched her jaw and blinked as the images of sand and smoke flashed before her eyes. _Not always,_ she wanted to say. But the redhead was looking at her with stony conviction, and it made Maria want to believe her.

“It helps when the team has incredibly efficient agents, who never miss their target. Who always manage to succeed,” Maria replied, a sly smile tugging at her lips, “Such as Hawkeye.”

The Russian narrowed her eyes murderously, “You’ll watch your words, Hill,” she faux threatened, “If you want to get your hands on that data.”

Maria flashed the redhead a quick grin before shifting her laptop in her direction. Romanoff eyed the device for a bit, and then swatted it aside with a flick of her wrist. And before Maria could question the move, the woman reached into the pocket of her suit to produce a neatly folded sheet of paper.

Romanoff placed it on the lid of the laptop, patting it twice while looking deeply into Maria’s eyes. Her gaze softened a bit, and before Maria could read any emotion in her green orbs, Romanoff winked and then proceeded to strut out of the room.

Maria waited for a full 10 seconds after the redhead left before reaching for the paper. She opened it and found details of an independent database staring back at her.

Romanoff’s personal cloud.

Maria wondered if she should feel touched at the trust the redhead had implicitly placed in her. She wondered if this was the beginning of something new. Wondered if this strange pull she felt towards Romanoff was real. Wondered if she could resist it. _Do I even_ want _to resist it…?_

The woman was like fire; beautiful and untouchable and dangerous. Maria knew that. And yet, she found herself reaching for the redhead, wanting for more, wanting _something_.

The woman was fire, but she gave almost as much as she took. And Maria didn’t _have_ much for Romanoff to take. She was _already_ burnt.

And that thought was more inhibiting than it was emboldening. Because Maria didn’t want to perish in the redhead’s flames. Neither did she want to douse them or tame them. Maria wanted to be the one who could shield Romanoff from her own fire.

But she knew she wasn’t capable of doing that. She carried her own tempest within her, crawling right under her skin, waiting to be unleashed. And the realisation that she was starting to slip closer towards Romanoff didn’t help Maria one bit. She wondered just how long she’d last…

Her eyes fell on the log-in credentials written on the paper, and she was dragged out of her thoughts. Maria couldn’t help her smile when she read the password to the Russian’s cloud: HeyThereH0tStuff.

And just like that, she was caught in the Widow’s web.

_Fin._


End file.
